Burnettiquette

Cheese and Crackers!

According to a new study, swearing can give you a higher tolerance for pain.

Lots of theories abound, but the one that makes the most since to me is that most people who are on a sincere swearing fit are amped up when they're doing it. And maybe the elevated heart rates drive up adrenaline levels or something, lowering your sensitivity to pain.

And in case someone slow is reading this, by "sincere" I don't mean good or pure or any of those other secondary definitions. I'm talking about people who swear and mean it.

I try to maintain a clean tongue, and I'm not always successful at it. But I still have some catching up to do. If I want to be pain free, "fudge it," and "son of a biscuit eater" ain't gonna work anymore.

One question though: does this cussing-dampens-pain theory apply to internal pain too, like sadness, heartbreak, etc? I'm gonna guess not.

BTW, follow me: http://twitter.com/jamesburnett.

So,

The dog pool ate got my me homework pregnant

A woman from Poland is claiming her daughter was recently impregnated in a situation akin to immaculate conception, so she is suing the place where the apparent miracle took place.

Magdalena Kwiatkowska and her 13-year-old daughter recently vacationed in Egypt. When they returned home, the daughter told Kwiatkowska that she was pregnant. But Kwiatkowska says her daughter didn't meet boys on the trip, so the girl must've been the victim of "stray sperm" in the hotel pool.

That's right. Stray sperm.

I'm not sure whether I think this is an old-fashioned hustle, or if Kwiatkowska is just naive.

Maybe it's neither. But there's no way that kid is carrying Jesus or anything. Possibly the Antichrist.

Whatever. If the mom is right about the cause of her daughter's spermination, I'll never get in a hotel pool again.

Need I remind you? Stray sperm. They don't make hot enough showers for that.

Speaking of bodily fluids and swimming pools, when I was a little kid floundering about the neighborhood pool, there was an urban legend - at least I think it was just legend - that if you peed in the swimming pool you'd be caught 'cause there was invisible ink in the water that would have a chemical reaction with the urine, and create a cloud of black or blue ink around you.

If that ink pee thing wasn't legend and Kwiatkowska isn't a total headcase, you'd think they could put something in pools to alert other swimmers to "stray sperm."

Ha! I couldn't even write that last sentence with a straight face.

http://twitter.com/jamesburnett

Here's how you know that Michael Jackson coverage has peaked...

When a television network does a feature on whether or not Bubbles the Chimp, Jackson's old sidekick, is aware of his former owner's death, and how Bubbles even moves like Jackson.

No joke, NBC's Today Show did this, this morning. And that's all I'll say about it 'cause Bubbles lives in a retirement home in Florida. And with my luck the Miami Herald will send me there, and tomorrow you'll be reading a story in your local paper about a Miami Herald reporter getting beaten half to death by a moonwalking chimpanzee. And somehow cellphone video of the beating will find its way to YouTube. And I'll be clowned for the rest of my life.

http://twitter.com/jamesburnett.

Forced birth control

I'm as libertarian as you can get when it comes to individual rights - including the right to hump like a rabbit and make babies.

But it's hard to advocate parenthood in this guy's case.

If you don't have time to follow the link, it's a story about Gary Staton, a 37-year-old Nebraska man whose wife died in early 2007, leaving him with their nine kids, ages 1 to 16, including one stepdaughter.

Stanton couldn't handle the pressure, so he took advantage of Nebraska's Safe Haven Law and dropped the kids off at an Omaha hospital, washed his hands Pontius Pilate-style, and drove off.

The law was intended to allow parents who couldn't handle the pressure to turn their babies over safely and without fear of reprisal, because leaving your baby at a hospital is a better option than abandoning him on the street. He's safe. You're not arrested. Everyone wins, no?

The problem is the law, as originally written, did not include age limits on the kids who could be legally ditched. It has since been changed to limit ditchees to newborns.

And Gary Staton? His new girlfriend is pregnant with twins.

The best quote I've heard from a great dad in years goes to Staton from an interview with the Omaha World-Herald after he dropped off his nine other kids two years ago: "If I had a thousand dollars I'd get fixed."

http://twitter.com/jamesburnett

R.I.P. Elvis of Generation-X AKA Michael Jackson

So by now, you know that Jackson is dead. Or you should, unless you're completely unplugged.

I hope he did not really molest children, as was alleged many times over the past 20 years or so. But he was never convicted of it, so unless and until I learn in the next life that he did it, then that R.I.P. stands. If I learn "later" that he did it, I'll posthumously rescind the R.I.P.

At any rate, for people born between 1962ish and 1982ish, he was Elvis. Trust me, when I tell you that in all my travels abroad, the one famous or infamous American that locals always bring up to me in casual conversation is Michael Jackson. When I lived in the UK 11 years ago there were still fans walking around my Sunny Brixton neighborhood in London wearing that stupid, puffy-shouldered red leather jacket, long after Eddie Murphy had made it a laughingstock in Beverly Hills Cop.

The second person I'm asked about most often when traveling abroad is Michael Jordan. Third Britney Spears. Distant fourth, fifth, etc? Statesmen, U.S. presidents, and the like. Sad social commentary, but let's save that for another post.

The same way my parents' generation remembers where they were when they heard Elvis had died, I'm telling you my peers, with a few exceptions, will remember years from now what they were doing or where they were when they heard Michael Jackson had died.

There will never be another music video like Thriller. Bad, Beat It? Are you kidding me? And based on the current crop of pop talent, we shouldn't hold our breath waiting for another solo musician who will bridge the gap between genres ranging from soul, to disco, to R&B, to bubblegum pop, to rock, to electronica. Half the pop singers today can't walk and chew gum at the same time, much less moonwalk. Speaking of, am I the only one here who nearly broke his ankles trying to dance like MJ back in the day?

And love or hate the guy, you must admit that long after Britney Spears is a distant memory, and long after the Ashlee Simpsons, Pinks, Chris Browns, and Rihannas of the world are just dusty footnotes on some defunct VH-1.com memories page, you will remember the name Michael Jackson.

The only other pop artist's name you'll remember from this generation? Madonna.

Let's not mince words. For a couple of decades in addition to the child sex allegations, he was weird, what with the dangling babies over balconies, and the glove, the outfits, the masks, Bubbles the chimpanzee companion, the children of mysterious origin, the crotch-grabbing performance gesture adopted by an unfortunate generation of rappers, etc. If I had kids I probably wouldn't have let Jackson babysit 'em, but when they were old enough I'd definitely let them hear his songs.

But before the tarnish, Michael Jackson changed pop music forever, and in a bass ackwards way that he may or may not have intended, the nature of his music attracted fans from all cultures and ethnicities and brought people together in a way that to date no politician and few religious icons, save the Pope and Billy Graham.

PS. R.I.P. Farrah Fawcett

P.P.S. NFL player Chad Ocho Cinco is an idiot. Not for changing his name from Chad Johnson, but for Tweeting earlier today, upon learning of Jackson's death, that Jackson's death combined with Fawcett's made for a day worse than 9/11.

Follow me at http://twitter.com/jamesburnett.

Happy Anniversary!!!!

...to Mrs. B and me.

That's right. Today marks four years since Mrs. B and I tied the knot.

And I mean this in the most positive way, but it feels like 40 years. Not 'cause it's been a drag, but because time has flown.

She and I have ridden a couple of roller coasters, and we've always finished the ride sturdier and stronger than when we climbed aboard.

Our first couple of anniversaries I tried to wax poetic. Not today. I have nothing to prove to anyone but her and me. We love each other. She sometimes annoys me. I sometimes annoy her. We laugh, we cry, we argue. We get over it. We're down like Bonnie & Clyde, minus the murder and bank robbery, of course.

I look forward to forty more years.

Now, if you'll excuse me, we're going to go celebrate.

BTW, I don't often single people out just for being nice. But I have to give special kudos to Monty AKA The CEO, for those of you who've read his knowledgeable comments on the economy under that moniker. Monty and I have never met in person. We have had extensive conversations online and via email. And I can say with a straight face that I've had deeper talks with him than I've had with some people I've considered friends for 10-years or more. So when I awakened this morning, what did find once I got wired? A card from Monty and his wife, wishing Mrs. B and me a happy anniversary. That my friends and frienemies is a good friend!

Real Talk About Race: Re-introduction

I said last week we'd restart this chat on Monday. But what can I tell you? News is like the funeral business - a never ending and ever changing supply of new subjects.

I kind of hate the better late than never school of thought, but I am human and therefore a frequent an occasional hypocrite, so I'm going to apply that logic here.

If you were with me for the first four chapters of this friendly discussion/Q&A/debate/confessional/defensive posturing session/explanation period, then you know how it works. If not, let me explain:

For so many significant reasons that affect or will affect the telling of American history some day, race, ethnicity, and skin color are hot topics right now.

Often each of those things is used out of context. We talk about different races, when we really mean skin colors. We talk about skin colors when we mean ethnicities.  We talk about race and ethnicity when we really mean culture. We take smug pride in the philosophy that racism and other serious isms are institutional and therefore don't apply to us as individuals, but we can't bring ourselves to acknowledge prejudice, which is a "trait" of individuals. And we use political correctness as an excuse...to either guilt-trip our foes into walking on egg shells for fear of tearing our thin skins, or to excuse ourselves (or our friends) for ignorant words or behavior that we should have known better than to utter or engage in.

So in this occasional "series" I'll introduce topics sometimes based on current events and sometimes based on your questions or comments.

There are only four rules for Real Talk:

• Don't be afraid to ask a question...if you really don't know the answer. But don't engage in faux ignorance of a particular topic, in order to "subtly" slip in a low blow at a person or group you dislike. If you really don't know, ask. And if you do know but pretend not to, you'll be called out! Maybe not by me, but another reader/commenter will get you!
• No broad generalizations. If you read this blog with any regularity, you know broad generalizations are a major pet peeve of mine, especially when it comes to judging people on characteristics they have no control over...like skin color. Be specific to your experiences. I don't want to read any "Why do (presumably all) white people..." or "Why do (presumably all) black people...," etc.
• Don't be an apologist for past actions you weren't involved in. I love sincere people. I love sincere people who understand and acknowledge the good and bad parts of the past. But, for example, I can't stand it when I meet sappy people who tell me things like "I am so sorry my people enslaved your people." Seriously, that phrase was actually uttered to me once, by a weird hippy I made the mistake of briefly dating. What do you say to something like that? Maybe "thanks!" Or "no problem, I wasn't there!" Or "I hate you! You ruined everything!" Or "that couldn't have happened; I checked. My 'people' came here on a different kind of boat, free, via Scotland." Guess which of those responses is both true and the one I gave.
• Don't be abusive or intentionally abrasive. I don't have a thin skin, but I won't humor certain language. And I have no qualms about deleting and/or blocking you.
• Now that I'm done finger wagging, the last rule is don't be uptight. We tend to offend when we're too worried about offending. That's not a contradiction to rule number four. Be sincere. Be curious. But don't be stiff. And please, within the confines of good taste and in the spirit of ice-breaking, don't be afraid to have a sense of humor.

OK, so that's the deal. Think about topics, questions, etc. And feel free to leave 'em in a comment on this post, or save 'em for later.

I'll post the first topic in this conversation on Friday, unless, of course, one of you suggests something better than what I have planned.

Peace and hair grease, and follow me at http://twitter.com/jamesburnett.

Shame on the Los Angeles County Prosecutors, RE: Chris Brown & Rihanna

Chris Brown, the Britney-esque pop singer and dancer, who was charged with felonies for then-allegedly viciously beating his then girlfriend, pop singer Rihanna several months ago, has been given a plea deal by those tough as nails prosecutors in LA: Brown admits to felony assault, serves no jail time, receives five years of probation, and performs six months community labor AKA community service.

That's it. Not a day behind bars for beating the hell out of a woman.

And don't give me that speech about innocent till proven guilty. Don't tell me, you, like me, have not mentally convicted people before the fact when their guilt seemed apparent.

I'm not talking complicated mysteries, in which there is "reasonable" doubt. I'm talking those scenarios when someone walks in on a blood-soaked woman as she plunges a knife into a man's chest while cackling in a nutty way "die, die, die!" I'm talking the drunk driver with no passengers in his car, who climbs out of the driver's seat at the accident scene, as two dozen other drivers watch. Or, in this case I'm talking the boyfriend who acknowledges he was the only person with his girlfriend the evening bruises, cuts, and black eyes materialized on her face - the injuries shown in this picture, the boyfriend who through leaked text messages and such admits culpability, the boyfriend who acknowledges in his plea that those injuries were not sustained through a mysterious fall down a stairwell.

Why a plea deal? Why not no deal? A spokesperson for the LA County DA's office says Brown's deal is in line with what other first-time offenders in similar crimes get in Cali. Did I miss something? Brown was not charged with assaulting another man in a fistfight. He was charged with assault for beating a woman.

If this were philosophy class, the analogy would be that the tiny-brained reaction to Brown's admitted assault would be to give him a minor punishment 'cause others have gotten minor punishments for the same thing in the past. The logical thing to do though would be to stop giving minor punishments to men who beat women (and the less frequently occurring and less frequently reported women who beat men), and instead raise the punishment bar on all such offenders!

Prosecutors, you want to give deals to first-time offenders? Give those deals to the 13-year-old who steals a DVD from Target, or the harried mom of five, who injures her back and then gets so badly hooked on pain pills she falsifies a prescription slip to get more. But folks who assault or kill or commit crimes with weapons or deal drugs to or sexually assault children? No deals.

By not making an example of Brown and ending with him its admitted long practice of coddling first-time woman beaters, prosecutors in LA have condoned domestic violence, and have done nothing to quell the popular belief that if you want to get a slap on the wrist for committing a crime, then get rich, get famous, and go West young man!

I'm too pretty to go to jail. But I'm not famous, so I can guarantee you if I went to LA and beat the hell out of a woman, I'd get locked up faster than your head would spin...from me slapping you silly, of course.

Follow me: http://twitter.com/jamesburnett.

PS. As an angry black man, who sometimes expresses his frustration via tough love to the segment of young black men who are misguided by tough home lives and disingenuous entertainers they admire, I'm even more ticked off by this prosecution decision, because it furthers the urban legend that the hip and cool can get away with anything. You know what some young guys are thinking right now? Wow, Chris Brown is untouchable! He's teflon! So cool! Not the message to send to young men who are already facing an uphill battle on the road to professional success and social acceptance. Don't twist my words. I'm not talking all young black men. Plus, I know that assault knows no racial boundaries. But let's be blunt: I'm showing tough love to the young guys who look like me, 'cause they need it (from me) most. And don't bother scolding me, 'cause I'm not apologizing for a single word. Chris Brown's a punk and a bad example.

Weekend Pictures

Can you tell I'm feeling lazy? I want to give you images, not words.

But if a picture is really worth a thousand words, then, I'm giving you guys a five or six thousand word essay here.

So I never thought I'd become one of "those" dog owners. You know the kind that take their dogs to dog-themed festivals and what not? But Mrs. B rubbed off on me, and where our last dog Cheko - may he rest in peace - was a little unsociable in his old age, our current dog Leo, the Labradinger, is in the mix. So here's Leo and me at a park a few blocks from Burnettiquette World Headquarters, where dog loons were hosting a Dog Days of Summer festival.

Here's Leo with a dog I believe is Star, one of his buddies, in the background.

  

Here's Mrs. B melting in the heat, across from Leo and me.

 

Here are the two mourning doves that fell from a poorly built nest in our back yard. When Mrs. B found 'em, Leo was sniffing them. Pleasantly surprised that he didn't seem interested in eating them. Mrs. B called a forestry person and they told her to build a makeshift nest and put the birds back in the tree and the mother dove, who is a terrible home-builder, would take 'em back. So Mrs. B gathered the old nest and put it in this cardboard box and I strapped the box with bailing wire on top of a limb in the tree.

Here's the fallen doves' tree in the yard.  You might be able to see their box/nest from the bottom. Maybe not.

 

Sun doing its thing on the beach, down the street from Burnettiquette World Headquarters.

Playing the race ethnicity card

I have confessed to lots of things over the past several years, from knowing the lyrics to most of the songs from the movie Grease to getting manicures.

I can't defend knowing those songs. I learned them while watching the film in a moment of weakness as a nerd kid, back in the day...before I became cooler than the other side of the pillow.

The manicures? I stand by 'em. My grandfather, James Sr., once told me that there's two things a man must keep consistent about his appearance if he wants to convince women he's got class: clean, smooth fingernails, and well-polished shoes.

But I digress. My third confession is that I watch those Real Housewives shows...all of 'em.

I know. It's shameful, but I have watched every episode of Real Housewives of Orange County, Real Housewives of New York, Real Housewives of Atlanta, and now Real Housewives of New Jersey.

And I must say that this television franchise has convinced me of what I always suspected: that money gives people class and character.

Psyche! I'm kidding. The people displayed on these shows are about as classy as one of those tuxedo T-shirts. And my puppy has left more character in tightly coiled piles of lawn sausage in my backyard. I watch because it's like glancing at a car wreck as you drive by on the freeway: hard to resist.

But on a serious note, in the season finale of the New Jersey series Tuesday night, the female stars of the show got into shouting matches over who leaked to the public a book that revealed one of them had once been a cocaine-loving stripper, with prostitutish tendencies.

In the course of the argument, as they all swore in so much that their young daughters blushed in apparent shame, one of the women knocked over dishes, flipped over a table, and threatened physical harm to the subject of the salacious book...who probably deserved it. But that's not the point!

After things calmed down, the table flipper dismissed her behavior by shrugging and explaining "I'm Italian...." Her sister-in-law chimed in later that the tantrum was the result of the table-flipper's "hot Italian temper."

And that was that.

I know that this is just a dumb TV show, but it is popular on the entertainment culture landscape. So I have a major problem with that sort of cop out.

If I drop-kicked my annoying neighbor from three doors down - the one who has a perfectly manicured lawn and well-kept house but arrives home from work every evening blasting Freebird from his pick-up truck, sometimes shouting "Git 'er done!" - and then casually shrugged it off with "I'm African American," or "it's my hot black temper," I'd get blasted in the court of public opinion.

Even worse, and more accurate to the example from this TV show, what if I blamed my temper tantrums on being "African" - not "African American," but "African?"

You guys would never let me hear the end of it. I'd be slapped with reminders that folks born in this country should acknowledge and even embrace their ethnicities, but if they're born here they're American, yada yada yada.

And don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. What gives with this type of hypocrisy?

I have my thoughts, but I'm gonna save 'em for when we re-start our occasional blog series "Real Talk About Race." If you'd like to catch up on old installments of that series go here, here, here, and here.

Otherwise, skip the first four chapters, and we'll kick off the next installment on Monday.

Till then, follow me at http://twitter.com/jamesburnett. And if you read books or pretend that you do, you can befriend me at http://shelfari.com/jamesburnett. It's sort of a Facebook for readers. I just joined a couple days ago, so I haven't had time to add my whole library - just three books. More to come.